The Burnt Out Heart
by Malfunctioning Mandible
Summary: Bones and Booth have to tolerate Sherlock's weird crime solving methods and... you'll find out.
1. Chapter 1

Booth stared blankly at his computer screen as he clicked randomly on the tiny boxes on his monitor. Minesweeper was the only entertainment he was getting, and had got for weeks. Apparently not many people were into the murdering business at the moment. Maybe the insane guilt was getting to the criminals. Or maybe people just weren't making skeletons for Bones to use. Apparently flesh was "in" right now. Booth sighed. A long drawn out sigh. He clicked the _**x**_ at the top of the minesweeper window and returned to staring into space. He could clean his office… again. But what was the point? Everything was already set into place, and he didn't fancy hearing the giggles he conjured when he asked for the vacuum cleaner. No. Just boredom for Booth. But suddenly and illogically his phone rang and for the first time in weeks. He almost jumped out of his chair with excitement.

"Hello, this is Seeley Booth." He said, with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm.

"Hello Seeley. I have a case for you."

Booth blinked. "Ok. Have you talked to Bones yet?"

"No. this isn't really a Bones case. But we need a cop, and you are the only one available."

"I don't work without Bones."

"I know you don't Seeley, but I am sending out one of my best and you and Bones would like to meet him. Trust me on that."

"If Bones agrees, we both do."

"Thank you. The detective arrives at 8:15 pm on Sunday. Can you pick him up at Washington international airport?"

"Sherlock. Stop being a child and pack a suitcase."

Sherlock sat cross-legged on his rather untidy sofa, picking at a loose thread on his British flag cushion and facing away from his older brother.

"No."

"Sherlock." Mycroft looked at his brother with a frown and a warning in his voice. "This will do wonders for the British government."

"No. The case you have asked me to attend is not worthy of my time and neither are you. I don't work for people with double digit IQ's."

Mycroft sighed and leant further onto his umbrella. Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair angrily but paused when he heard the familiar sound of John's noisy, running footsteps from the stairwell. He flung the cushion in his lap at Mycroft and sent an evil glare in his general direction, before turning to face John, who now stood in the doorway to his very messy apartment.

"Sherlock. What the hell have you done?"

Paper was strewn in seemingly random patterns around the carpet, the coffee table was upturned and the only circle of cleanness surrounded the tall and imposing figure of Mycroft, who stood in the middle of the room looking in confusion at John.

"We had a little… disagreement." Mycroft stated. His brow furrowed in frustration.

"Little?"

"Well, you know how tiresome Sherlock can be."

John nodded his head slowly and rubbed his temple with his hand.

"What is it this time, Mycroft?"

"My little brother refuses to travel to America and solve a rather interesting case, which seems to indicate the work of a serial killer."

"Sherlock. You're a brilliant detective." John left the connotation hanging.

Sherlock looked at John with squinting eyes.

"John, this case is clearly a waste of my time. Why don't you go for me?" Sherlock drawled.

"Sherlock I will not solve a case via wi-fi."

"Fine. To aid the British government achieve a mutual friendship with America."

Mycroft smiled a cat-like smile and nodded in John's direction.

"Your flight leaves at 5pm tomorrow. Here are your tickets. All accommodation paid for and you will be picked up from Washington Dulles International Airport at…"

Sherlock scowled and grabbed the tickets from Mycroft, cutting him off in the middle of his sentence.

"I'm not as stupid as you, Mycroft I can convert the times in my head. We'll be picked up at 8:15." Sherlock said with a snarl.

Mycroft smiled, "You always liked to get your own way." He grabbed his coat off the back of the sofa and placed his hat on his head, tipping it to John as he left. "Good day, John."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Coke in the Cop**

Sherlock was never the best person to be around, especially after an 8 hour flight over international waters. He had spent most of the flight talking to a rather uncomfortable looking man next to him, who had turned green when Sherlock introduced the rate of decomposition to the rather disgusting conversation. While he, John, had spent most of the flight watching movies. Including a particularly horrible one, which seemed to be based around Sherlock and himself, although it featured rather a large amount of homoerotic subtext, most of which included Sherlock and the Watson character quite strongly.

The voice of the captain blared from microphones placed in the plane's cabin, "We will be arriving in Washington in 20 minutes. The current time in Washington is 7:55 pm."

John turned to Sherlock and told him to do up his seatbelt.

"John, you really are ignorant. The seatbelt will in no way save me from a plane crash as it is attached only at my hips and not over my vital organs, this therefore makes it a completely useless device that only renders me uncomfortable during the remaining flight time."

"Tell that to her." John pointed at an angry looking stewardess that was leaning over Sherlock as he kept his seatbelt undone.

"Please sir, would you do up your seatbelt," the stewardess smiled a tired smile and tried to remain peaceful and pleasant.

"No. This device is useless and I refuse to put it on." Sherlock smiled sarcastically back to the rather annoyed looking lady.

"Sir, you either place your seatbelt on or I shall call the on flight police and you will be arrested when you arrive at Washington airport."

Sherlock paused but didn't move to do up his seatbelt. John saw Sherlock's eyes flicker around the stewardess and sighed but before he could do anything Sherlock started to babble on about the stewardesses affair with the captain, until she disappeared in a huff claiming that the police would be with Sherlock shortly after landing.

Sherlock sighed and looked accusingly at the airport security man. The two stared at each other for awhile before Sherlock let his eyes wander over the man to discover as much as he could about this annoying little guy.

"Do you want me to call your boss or do you want to?"

"But I am the boss."

"Your ID?"

The security guard opened his wallet and Sherlock leaned in for a better look at the man's card.

"So, who will make the call?"

"Uhmm… sorry?"

Sherlock slid his phone across the table toward the security guard and watched as the man dropped the phone and let it glide onto the floor, "Maybe you should make the call, I might accidently let slip about your current drug habits. I tend to do things like that, don't I John?" Sherlock looked over at John who sat head in his hands at the small table Sherlock had refused to sit at. John nodded and put the deer-stalker hat onto his head, he knew they would be leaving soon.

The security guard looked at Sherlock confusedly, a common expression Sherlock experienced from others, "I don't do drugs."

Sherlock smiled back slyly and John shook his head, feeling Sherlock buzz with excitement at informing the security guard about some sort of wrong doing he had committed.

"We'll start with the glasses. You wear them but when you look at things you look over them like you don't need them. They're slightly tinted. Fashion accessory? No. They're tinted remember, handy for covering things up. But what would you need to hide?"

"Nothing… I don't need to hide anything! I don't do drugs." The security guard's face was one of concern and rage. He hadn't been expecting someone with Sherlock level IQ, nor his inability to be in any way warm or kind to people other than John.

"You're eyes are bloodshot and the pupils are dilated. There's also the fact that you have little money in your wallet. Coke costs but you keep a one dollar bill in case you need it."

Sherlock paused and looked over to John, a silent communication for his approval. John was always interested when Sherlock was in the middle of a deduction, but he was rather worried about Sherlock this time. The cigarettes were to get him off cocaine, but now he was rather close to a ready supply. John was just waiting to get out and away from the security guard. But Sherlock wasn't done showing off and apparently the security guard wasn't angry enough yet.

"You're married, but you have no picture of a wife in your wallet and the photo window shows clear signs of a picture recently being removed. So unhappily married. Maybe because you've been borrowing large amounts of cash recently or your wife knows about your habit and she's not happy about it."

" Hang o-"

Sherlock silenced the security guard with a hard stare at the man's quite unkempt uniform.

"You also haven't ironed your uniform. Your wife won't do it, she's angry at you. So you have to iron yourself, but you can't be bothered. You also haven't brushed your teeth for a few days, or shaved. So lack of interest in physical appearance. Your uniform is rather on the large size but you are quite skinny, recently lost a lot of weight. You dropped my phone when I threw it at you because your reflexes are slow but not naturally, surely a police man needs to be quick… therefore, cocaine addict. Would you like me to continue with your sexual habits or should I leave it there?" Sherlock stopped his pacing around the room and smiled dazedly at John, who nodded and rolled his eyes back at Sherlock.

"Errrrr… I t-think I-I'll make the um… the uhhh… call." The man seemed quite distressed as he picked the phone off the floor and dialled a number into the keypad.

_Thank you for reading my story it's nice to know that people are interested in it. If you review I was wondering if you could perhaps comment on my deduction. I'm having a little trouble with things like that and I wanted to know if this one is ok. Regarding the posting of chapters, I can either post a chapter every time I write one. Which means some may come out in a day while others take a couple of weeks. Or I can post a new chapter every week, which means that the story quality might not be as good but it will come out regularly. Tell me which you prefer in a review. Thanks for reading again. _


	3. Chapter 3

**The Cop or the Detective**

Booth walked slowly around the airport searching for the arrivals desk. Bones walked quickly by his side, Booth matching his strides to hers. He stopped and reached into his pocket to answer his phone which was ringing rather loudly in the crowded airport terminal. He checked caller ID but the number was blocked, he decided to answer it anyway.

"Hello. Uhhm, Sir. I have someone here who is demanding to see you. He was arrested for failure to observe flight safety laws and rules. His name is Sherlock Holmes."

"OK. I'm walking to the security room now. Thanks."

Booth hung up and placed the phone back in his pocket. Bones looked at him with worry.

"The security room, Booth? Why?"

"Apparently Sherlock was arrested."

Bones laughed and Booth couldn't help but laugh in response.

"You could have arrested him, Booth."

Bones laughed again as they strode towards the back end of the airport.

…..

_(so you know this is my new symbol for new passage. My old one didn't show up…. Sorry)_

"Ahhh… Come to the rescue have we. The two lovebirds." Sherlock looked between Bones and Booth and John sunk further into his seat and pulled his hat closer to his head.

"What?" Brennan looked at Booth with a sidewards glance, "No. We're not…"

"Oh please haven't you seen Booth's-" Sherlock started… Booth cleared his throat loudly and looked at Sherlock in a 'shut-up-I-have-a-massive-gun' way.

"You've obviously come to take me to the Jeffersonian Institute. But I prefer the transport of taxis. Always reliable and often driven by extraordinary people. You can pick up my baggage before you leave, brown suitcase and John's is grey. You'll know them when you see them."

"You're saying I'm not good enough?" Booth looked Sherlock straight in the eyes.

"Well, you seem to have missed a few of my finer points but your "Cocky" belt buckle leaves me with that conclusion."

Booth turned to Brennan, "I don't like this guy."

Sherlock shrugged and walked past Booth, he pushed against the door before turning back to face the room, "Are you coming, John?"

…

Sherlock strode into the Jeffersonian and looked around. He was greeted quickly by a young woman who seemed to be extremely excited to meet him.

"I'm Angela. Nice to meet you." Angela's eyes flickered up and down Sherlock's body before she smiled widely and blinked.

John stepped forward quickly and offered his hand, while simultaneously clearing his throat, "I'm John. John Watson. Nice to meet you too, Angela."

Sherlock's eyes flickered from John to Angela. He smiled weakly at Angela, "Pleasure," he said boredly. John pulled his hat off and looked around at the Jeffersonian's high ceilings and amazing architecture.

While Sherlock marched quickly past him onto the forensic platform in the middle of the room. There were no bodies currently occupying the huge industrial steel tables but strangely that's not what Sherlock was interested in. The alarm in the lab beeped loudly as he climbed the stairs but this only made him move faster towards the lone, shiny computer sitting on a desk at the edge of the platform. Reaching the computer he bent down and typed quickly on the keypad. The alarms ceased and Sherlock smiled and continued to look through the contents of the computer's hardrive. John looked at Angela apologetically.

"I'm sorry. He's always like this."

Angela grinned happily at John, "Don't worry, I have to deal with ones like him all the time."

And fortunately one person Angela 'had to deal with', one with whom Sherlock would most likely not get along with, entered right on time.

Hodgins walked toward Angela and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. John looked away embarrassed but Hodgins smiled and introduced himself. Meanwhile Sherlock had stopped typing and seemed to be looking around the desk and stopping at each item that had been carefully placed onto the steel desktop. While Sherlock continued his weird staring game, Booth and Bones arrived, Booth looking thoroughly pissed off and carrying two heavy looking suitcases. Sherlock looked at them as they came in, but made no move to help Booth with his suitcase, the complete opposite reaction to John, who ran over to help.

"John?" Booth questioned, looking at John strangely, as if he knew him from somewhere.

"Sergeant?"

"I haven't seen you since you dug that bullet out of my leg back in Afghanistan!" Booth laughed, "I can't believe I didn't recognise you. It must have been that stupid hat you were wearing."

"Nice to see you again, Seeley." John smiled and saluted.

Booth and John grinned back at each other and chatted idly about unimportant things, while Angela and Hodgins whispered to each other in the corner and Sherlock strode quickly over to his friend.

"Nice for you to catch up but I think it's time to investigate a murder. I didn't _endure_ your company just to stay for a chat. I have a skull that can do that for me." Sherlock announced.

Booth's smile vanished from his face, as he turned to face Sherlock.

"I'm sorry," John said to Booth, "he's always like this."

Over near the examination table Angela and Hodgins glanced at each other.

"Who do you think will win?" Angela asked.

"Win what?"

"The battle of the brains. The cop or the detective?"


	4. Chapter 4

**The Girl in the Garden**

Sherlock arrived at the crime scene in a taxi. It was an abandoned car park, the white paint faded on the cement. There were people in blue jumpsuits with 'FBI' written in large letters across their backs running around a body, taking pictures and placing small, yellow markers around the site.

The body was a woman. She lay face down on the cement, her hands and feet bound and her blond hair splayed across her back in a fan. Sherlock pulled gloves out of his pocket and snapped them onto his hands. A few of the cops complained at his sudden appearance but John quickly explained Sherlock's strange demeanour and Sherlock was left to observe in silence.

Behind Sherlock Booth and Bones pulled up and Bones hurried to inspect the body. But she shuddered to a halt when she saw the amount of flesh left on the victim.

"Booth. Why am I here? You should have let Cam do this. There's too much flesh."

John spotted the two arguing and rushed over.

"I'm Dr Watson. Sorry we didn't get a chance to talk before." John extended his hand to Brennan who shook it limply.

"Booth, I still don't understand why you brought me here. Surely I'm not needed."

Sherlock remained hunched over the body, looking annoyed and frustrated. John saw his expression and turned to leave.

"Can you excuse me for a moment?"

John walked towards Sherlock and stopped a respectful distance behind him. Sherlock would turn around when he was ready and John would just have to be patient.

"John, I can't think with you standing there. Go away." Sherlock stood pulled his phone out of his pocket and started typing.

"I was jus-"

"Go talk to your amazing army buddy or at least be useful. Tell me I'm amazing. It helps me think."

"Sherlock, I'm not goi-"

"Then you can leave." Sherlock spoke through gritted teeth. He was irritated. The crime scene was too noisy. Too many people were talking, and interrupting his thinking process. John turned to walk away, when he heard Sherlock turn the body over and noticed the annoyed looks on the FBI agent's faces. John breathed in deeply and swept an apologetic look at all the investigators. They all looked back at him, most with no indication of forgiveness. But that didn't matter, because John heard the click of a pressure pad behind him.

"Sherlock. Don't move." John turned quickly and spoke as calmly as possible at the same time. He faced Sherlock and saw him freeze, thankfully, Sherlock had chosen an appropriate time to believe John's warnings. "That was a pressure pad, Sherlock. When you move your hand, there will most likely be an explosion."

Sherlock nodded at John, who lent down and placed his hand next to Sherlock's on the pad. "Just don't move. When I say go I want you to move your hand and jump as far away from the body as possible." Sherlock nodded again and John saw a flicker of appreciation in his eyes.

"OK…. GO!"

John and Sherlock jumped back from the body and ran. Fortunately no other agents had been near the body, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because the explosion never came. After the two realised that nothing had blown up, they stopped and acknowledged the many confused faces surrounding them. John looked at Sherlock and thought about what they had just done. They looked like idiots. But that's okay, John was used to looking like an idiot. Being around Sherlock had that effect on you. Unfortunately, Sherlock wasn't used to looking like an idiot and judging by the annoyed look on his face, he wasn't enjoying it.

Sherlock turned around to face the body again. "John. I enjoy your company but you don't have to manufacture events to make me feel better towards you."

"b-" John swallowed and stopped. Rubbing his temple with his left hand he sighed… With Sherlock, there was no point arguing. Sherlock looked accusingly at John and then strode once again towards the body. The woman's face was obscured by a mask but there now seemed to be a gaping hole where her heart had been.

"John. Her hearts missing."

"Sherlock you're thinking of yourself." John said. He was annoyed right now. Sherlock often told John he was wrong. But never in front of so many people, and never to imply, John had feelings for him. But Sherlock hadn't been expecting a comment from John, and he looked up from the body, surprised and slightly hurt.

"John…. You were right. The pressure pad triggered somethi- OH…" Sherlock paused, he leant further over the body, stood up suddenly and placing his clasped hands in front of his face, he paced back and forth before turning to John. "It's a warning. Her HEART was burnt out John. Then it must be-" Sherlock reached down and pulled the mask from the girl's face. John heard him expel a large amount of air and he turned to face him.

"Sherlock?" John's voice was worried but when Sherlock turned to face him, Sherlock's face looked even more furious and concerned than John had ever seen it.

"What is it, Sherlock?" John stepped closer to the girl's face and looked down. "Christ. Is that…?"

"Molly."


	5. Chapter 5

**The Brother in The Ballgown**

"Seriously, Booth. Why am I here?" While Brennan had been questioning him, Booth had stayed in a rather annoying silence. But finally he couldn't deal with Bones being annoyed at him anymore.

"Because Lestrade said you'd like to meet Sherlock. But obviously you're not enjoying his company. So, I'm sorry. We can go home."

Brennan looked at Booth and then remembered that Sherlock was with the body, and she hadn't been there to supervise. She'd been so caught up with her one-sided argument with Booth. She'd forgotten that there was someone dead. And a detective she didn't know was alone investigating the body.

"Booth…" Her voice spoke her thoughts and her eyes seemed to say sorry.

'It's ok, Bones." Booth sighed. And watched as Brennan snapped gloves over her wrist and half-ran towards the body in the middle of the car park.

When she arrived, Brennan noticed the detective and John, standing ashen-faced looking at the victims face. She realised that they had turned the body over and removed the girl's mask. "You compromised evidence!" she said with annoyance.

John looked up at her, but the detective remained face down, as he looked his face changed and an air of excitement seemed to hover around him. He leant down and felt the victim's grey coat. John looked down at him and smiled sadly. He knew the look. Sherlock stood up again and faced John.

"She was in the botanical garden, John. She was going to see her sister but she was in a hurry when she was getting ready maybe because she was so excited, she wanted to tell her sister something. Something important."

Brennan looked from John back to the man named Sherlock. "Conjecture. Without proper equipment you can't insure correct information."

Sherlock looked into Brennan's cold, gray eyes. "Her coat is lightly sprinkled with water, in a horizontal pattern, not like you get with rain, where the water is falling downwards and the coat gets an equal splashing. This goes across the body, and if it was rain, she would have had to be miles away and the coat would have dried by the time she arrived here. The only place it is raining right now is in other states. So how did the water get on her coat? She walked through a sprinkler, the water pattern matches and the heaviness of the splashes is equal to the common sprinkler." Sherlock paused for breath and looked behind him at Molly's shoes. "She has a crushed flower in her shoes, along with manure and grass. Where do all those things commonly exist, along with a sprinkler? A park, obviously. The closest park is the Botanical Garden."

Brennan frowned, she wasn't happy with Sherlock's deductions. They made sense, but it was against her nature to use pure conjecture, so she was conflicted and unhappy. She felt annoyed too, this man excluded an auror of superiority, and he obviously had a very high IQ, which combined, was making her feel all the more inferior.

"She has a present in her pocket, it's addressed to Kelly, a continuous stream of xoxo's marked in the note, not a romantic partner, it would be x's. A friend then? No. The present is wrapped hastily, so she was in a hurry. But when people visit friends, they wrap presents as well as possible, to signify the state of their friendship. So whoever was getting this wouldn't mind getting a slightly badly wrapped present. Relative then. Writing Kelly excludes a father or mother, who would always be addressed in such a manner. The amount of xoing means the two are close. Closer than cousins. Sisters.

"But how do you know she was rushing?" Sherlock questioned in a high voice. "Well her makeup obviously. She has mascara, but it doesn't reach all the way to the root of her eyelashes. She has lipstick on her teeth and her eye shadow is smudged for effect. She used her finger, remnants are still on her fingertips, something she would have wiped off if she wasn't in a hurry." Sherlock finished and let out a breath.

John looked at Sherlock with admiring eyes, which Sherlock noticed when he turned to face him. But Brennan. Her eyes were annoyed. "Pure conjecture! You should let the Jeffersonian look at the body with proper equipment."

Sherlock looked back at her, annoyed. "My mind is no match for your inferior equipment. You'll find when you look at this body that I am correct and you will even find much less than I can deliver." Sherlock snarled.

Brennan wrinkled up her face and looked back at him before turning on her heel to complain to Booth.

Sherlock turned around to see John looking at him strangely. "How did you know about the make-up stuff, Sherlock?"

"Oh. Mycroft used to be a drag queen."

John's eyes widened and he giggled. "Mycroft?" John scoffed. "In a dress? With the eyelashes and everything?"

Sherlock smiled back at John and laughed too.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Girl On the Table**

Molly looked strange on the industrial investigation table at the Jeffersonian. But John was only with her for a few minutes; he was looking for cause of death and so far he was led to the unfortunate conclusion of asphyxiation, which he explained to Sherlock quickly after discovering it. Sherlock seemed less un-nerved about Molly's out of place looks. But he had taken a toll from the death of his…. John didn't really know what Molly was to Sherlock, but that she mattered. At least a little.

"John." Sherlock looked at his friend's face and saw the creases deepen on John's forehead. It was a funny sensation for Sherlock, but as he looked at John he realised, he was glad it wasn't the blogger on the metal table be for him. "Moriarty will get to everyone I care about, John. I've developed a logical conclusion that I'm sure you will agree to…"

Sherlock trailed off but John allowed him to stop.

"It's ok, Sherlock. I understand." Neither Sherlock nor John smiled but a silent communication passed between the two men that was better than any spoken words.

Thankfully the moment was cut off before it became an awkward silence as Camille Saroyan climbed the steps to the forensics platform. John returned to staring at Molly and whispered, "Bloody hell…"

Sherlock looked Camille up and down, and then turned to John with a quizzical look.

Camille's dress was tight-fitting as many of her dresses were, they seemed to stand out and were wholly inappropriate among the dead bodies and murder crimes, she liked to rebel against her workplace and make a statement about her inability to become subdued. "Hello." She said curtly. John nodded and felt his cheeks burn, Sherlock remained examining Molly's body. Camille snapped on rubber gloves and joined Sherlock in the search. Both moved around Molly in stony silence, John looked from Sherlock to Camille, "I'll just be off then." John moved to walk away from the two body searchers but Sherlock threw his arm out and grabbed the fabric around John's forearm before he could move away. "Sherlock what the hell are you-"

"Moriarty could be anywhere John." Sherlock's eyes remained on Molly's stockinged leg.

"Sherlock, I agreed to stay within reasonable distance… Not you watch while I pee." John whispered harshly, he could see a faint smile on Camille's lips. Sherlock ripped off his gloves and with one last look at Molly turned to John.

"You've got to be kidding, Sherlock."

Sherlock took a step towards the stairs and turned back to John, "Has your bladder vanished, John?"

"No. Bu- I." John looked defeated. "Sherlock, there are some things people have to do on their own." John spoke through gritted teeth.

"Moriarty can kill you, John. Do you think he cares if you're on the toilet?"

John sighed and marched to the nearest bathroom with Sherlock following him like a puppy. When they reached the door John closed it in Sherlock's face. "I can do the rest myself, thanks."

….

After the bathroom, John joined Sherlock and Camille in the body search. Sherlock had insisted but John suspected it was a ploy so Sherlock could watch him. But he didn't mind. There was something special about the way Sherlock investigated, and John didn't mind being around for that. While they reached into pockets and pulled out objects of varying description they stayed in silence. Until Sherlock reached into Molly's pocket and pulled out a note, read it and closed his eyes.

Sherlock, my dear.

Examining the body already?

It's a shame.

Molly liked you too much.

Watching John at the moment?

How sweet.

But it's not **him** I'd be worried about.

JM

_(Hello. I've realised my writing at the moment is mostly John and Sherlock and hardly any bones, booth. If you came to read this for bones, I'm sorry. I will write more of them in, but this story is going to be mostly Sherlock. So sorry if you don't like it. Feel free to stop reading if you don't like it. But those who are reading and will continue, thank you. You guys are awesome! Thank you for everyone who reviews too. It's really nice!)_


	7. Chapter 7

**The Toothpaste in the Girl**

The note scrunched inside his coat pocket, Sherlock walked towards the hotel. John walked in the near distance and was completely unaware of the fact that Sherlock was following him. He wasn't going to let John get far away from him. Despite the note, Sherlock was still worried about John in particular. He was the only friend he had, one of the four people he cared about. Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and John. The four people that kept him sane. And if John died, all the drugs in the world wouldn't stop him from being dragged into darkness. He needed John. Even more than John needed him.

…

John walked slowly and weaved between people in the crowded streets. He knew Sherlock was right behind him, and he felt safe. But Sherlock was worrying him. The creases on his friends face were standing out, and his eyes had become dull. John had once thought that Sherlock was not capable of any emotion. That he was blank when it came to love. But Molly's murder had changed him. The way Sherlock spoke had become more distant and he'd been more work driven than before, which John had thought impossible. He felt the need to make Sherlock happy more than ever, which was why, on the way home; he walked into a chocolate shop and emerged with a rather heavy package under his arm.

…

"No. Sherlock. I won't. There's a line."

"John. It's the only way."

"Why don't we take look-out turns?"

"Because, John. It wouldn't work."

"Why wouldn't it work? Your brilliant mind can surely comprehend that this is not a good idea."

"It wouldn't work because only one of us would be safe at a time…" Sherlock's voice turned to a whisper, "and I could only let that person be you…"

John saw the urgency in Sherlock's eyes and gave-in. "Fine. But you better not sleep naked." John turned and walked into the hotel's small bathroom.

Examining himself in the mirror he spotted his blood-shot eyes and splashed water over his face. Sherlock was being impossible. The experiments in the kitchen, the violin screeching at night, he could cope with that. But making them sleep in the same bed… that was different. That was crossing a line. One that was clear to John, but blurry to Sherlock. And that's the thing that frightened John the most. That Sherlock didn't realise what he was asking, and what meant something to him, was just necessary to Sherlock…

In the hotel room against the bathroom door, Sherlock sat, legs stretched awkwardly in front of him, head in his hands. He was scared. And he couldn't cope with it. He needed to think. He'd turned into an idiot. Someone who cares too much about everything. Sentiment was rusting his brain and leaving him holding the empty shells of his intellect. Brainy was becoming second to John. John was most important and it didn't make sense. Brainy had always been first, and now it seemed unimportant…..

Sherlock stood up when he heard John move toward the door. He took four long strides to the other end of the bedroom and stopped, facing the wall away from the bathroom doorway. When John walked out of the bathroom Sherlock remained facing the wall but looked back at John when he heard him clear his throat. John was dressed in threadbare, baggy pants and a tight army singlet. Sherlock could see the muscles in John's arms, uncovered by the normal long-sleeved shirts he wore.

"I… erhm. Which... which side do you sleep on?" John looked down cheeks burning and Sherlock's lips turned up in a slight smile.

"Left."

"Right. Ok." John, still looking down indicated the empty bathroom. "You can." John cleared his throat. "You can use the bathroom now."

Sherlock nodded, grabbed his pyjamas and closed the door behind him. He didn't mind stripping in front of John, but he had a feeling John would become too embarrassed, it gave him a place to think anyway.

….

The two slept as far away as each other as they could. John because he was embarrassed and Sherlock because he wanted John to be happy. Sherlock waited till John was asleep before getting out of bed and pacing the room. The movement helped him think and he needed to. The stifling hotel room was making him feel hazy and he couldn't stay under the covers when he could feel John's body heat radiating off him in waves. He walked for awhile before taking the note from his pocket and examining it. He felt the paper between his fingers, looked carefully at the handwriting. He even licked it. It tasted like peppermint. It was strong and confusing in his mouth. He didn't expect it to taste of anything other than paper. He licked it again. His mind buzzing with ideas. He paced faster around the room, his fast turns causing his dressing gown to swirl around him like a long, blue cloak. He heard voices in his ears, his eyes flickered in every direction, seeing but not concentrating on one image long enough. Pictures ran through his mind moving with blurry speed. Everything was moving. Everything at once. In every direction. Driving him mad. And then it all stopped and a clear image radiated through his mind.

"It was her toothpaste, John!" he yelled it in surprise and happiness not realising he'd said anything out loud. John sat up on the bed and looked at Sherlock with blurry eyes.

"What?" John stared at Sherlock again. Not quite seeing him. "What could you possibly be doing Sherlock?" John turned to look at the alarm clock beside him. "Sherlock." He whispered annoyedly. "It's one in the morning."

"But John. Can't you see? Of course you see. But you didn't notice." Sherlock pulled his coat off the back of a nearby chair and taking his dressing gown off he put it on over his pyjamas. Forgetting John momentarily he headed for the door and swung it open, then opening the door to the fire escape he ran quickly down the stairs, his bare feet slapping on the concrete.

….

"Hell. Fuck. Sherlock?" John shouted to the empty room. Muttering incoherent sentences he jumped out of bed and searched for something to put over his singlet. But the only thing left was Sherlock's stupid dressing gown. Pulling it on, John joined Sherlock at a run down towards the hotel lobby.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Drinker and The Smoker**

Brennan sat in her office reconstructing a shattered skull from an interesting case she'd been working on **before** the annoying detective had arrived. She thought she had begun to understand people through Booth. But Sherlock was confusing. She valued academic worth and it was obvious from Sherlock's lack of social knowledge and constant darting eyes that he was one of the smartest people the world could know. She sighed and dabbed glue onto another section of bone. Her work had always interested her but tonight she couldn't concentrate. She'd only stayed back because she needed time to relax. Sherlock's constant burstings were making her angry and she couldn't see him again without having some quality time with the dead. Although she didn't doubt her ability to create the perfect murder, she felt murdering the tall, British man would injure the two countries alliance, and she couldn't face the politics. Putting down the skull she reached for her coat and turning off the lights. She emerged into the main forensic room in the Jeffersonian. But it seemed that release from Sherlock had been short-lived because in the middle of the room, he stood. The victim's body sprawled on the examining table and microscope in hand he was gazing into the girl's open mouth.

"You're compromising evidence! You can't be here!"

"You can't be here either, but alas you are." Sherlock drawled sarcastically. Sherlock returned to examining as if Brennan were no more than an annoying fly.

Brennan huffed and with an exasperated look went to physically remove Sherlock from his post. But she stopped when she realised what he was wearing. His blue pyjamas were an odd combo with his long dark coat and tousled brown hair. He looked like he'd jumped out of bed and judging by his bare feet he probably had. A door burst open at the far end of the room and Brennan looked to see John burst into the room wearing the same odd combination. Instead of a coat he wore a long dressing gown with the sleeves rolled up and he looked considerable more annoyed than Sherlock.

"Sherlock. You scared the shit out of me. You stupid dick. First we have to sleep together, then you run off. IT'S ONE IN THE BLOODY MORNING! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE SO IMPORTANT?" John accentuated each shout with a heavy arm movement.

"John, you shouldn't shout in other's company. You taught me that." Sherlock replied calmly not even bothering to look up at John.

"What company you blithering idiot?" John looked around the room and noticed Brennan. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a long line of ducks then ran his hands through his hair. Brennan looked at him, her face creased in a frown.

"It's interesting that you two sleep together. I didn't picture you like that, John. Although I can see it now. I thought you looked at Sherlock-" Sherlock's head snapped up and he stared harshly at John who looked down quickly. Finally the silence seemed to drag itself out for a little longer than is socially acceptable and John turned to Brennan.

"Although no one seems to believe me, I'm not gay. It's more likely that this stupid prick is." John pointed to Sherlock.

…

Vincent looked at the girl's teeth and swabbed them several times. The samples were going to Hodgins who had agreed to work on the case only after promised there would be a lot of what Vincent called "stuff" and Hodgins called "Holy material", for him to examine. He hadn't met the detective yet but he had heard gossip. Apparently he was gay and from Britain. Those two things made Vincent anxious to meet him. He was slightly homesick and his constant phone calls from his mother weren't stopping him longing the British countryside. But for now he was limited to waiting for him to show up and he could only hope to get in the man's good books by helping a little with the case. The woman was small, it was annoying him that she wasn't bones yet. Her face was putting him off a little and he couldn't help but draw parallels to his annoying sister. Whose face was framed by the same shade of brown hair. Vincent put another cotton bud in an evidence bag and fidgeted. He was getting bored but there was no one to spout random facts to. He sighed and paced around the body again, looking for details he might have missed with anything. He wasn't an expert at flesh but he was okay. Finally and to his relief he heard footsteps walking towards the room and he looked toward the door in anticipation. Two men walked into the room. Both stark opposites. One was short, his face soft and his eyes welcoming. The other was tall and full of sharp angles, his eyes flashed over Vincent quickly judging.

"Did you know that odontophobia is the fear of teeth?"He burst out looking expectantly at the men.

"No. But why would I need to when I can just google it?" the tall man drawled with a london accent.

Vincent stopped short and replayed the man's words in his head soaking in the accent and smiling.

"Can you say that again?" Vincent grinned widely and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry. But who are you?" Vincent opened his eyes to see both the men staring at him. It seemed the shorter one had spoken as he was looking at Vincent expectantly.

"Vincent Nigel-Murray. I work with Dr Brennan."

"John. This is Sherlock." John nodded towards Sherlock who was staring boredly at the ceiling. Finally he turned to look at Vincent.

"Drinker." He said with disgust. John turned to Sherlock.  
>"You smoke remember?" John smiled mischievously.<p>

"I wish…."


	9. Chapter 9

**The Science of Deduction**

Hodgins stared down the microscope and tested each particle found on the victim's teeth. So far he'd found only the common toothpaste ingredients, sodium fluoride, sodium monofluorophosphate, ammonium lauryl sulfate. The lab had refused Sherlock allowance to look at anything under a microscope. Well... Booth had told him he couldn't look at anything under the microscope. Hodgins looked back at the toothpaste with increasing suspicion, there was something odd about it. He decided to test for a few more chemicals... refining the search to a few common poisons. But he was interrupted when Brennan walked into his office. Frowning.

"I hate that idiotic detective. He only thinks about himself. He has no concept of social laws!"

Hodgins smiled. He remembered when he had first met Booth he had said something similar about Brennan. But there had been more obscene language.

"Hey. He's not that bad. His friend is nice."

"Not at one in the morning when he burst into the Jeffersonian yelling about something."

Hodgins laughed. "About what?"

Brennan looked back at him with serious eyes. "In a concise sentence he discussed his lack of homosexuality. "

"No way is he not gay. Angela and I have a bet going with Booth. He most definitely is."

Hodgins laughed. Anybody could see that John adored Sherlock. He was pretty sure even Sherlock knew. But probably didn't care.

"You shouldn't mix the mundane task of compulsive betting with another's sexuality. No one believes in science anymore!"

"Sherlock believes in science. 'The Science of Deduction'. He talks a lot about deducing things."

"The precise point from which my dislike of such an individual stems from."

Brennan stalked from Hodgins office.

…

Lit by the artificial light of the computer screen. Brennan stared at the words and scrolled rapidly through the billions of articles addressing rates of decomp. Types of decomp. Experiments about decomp. The list of glorified zombies stretched before her and she became engulfed in a world of exploding intestines and asphyxiating women. After awhile she couldn't stop reading. And it was only later, when Booth found her still huddled in her tiny office that she looked away from the computer and up into his big eyes.

"Why don't we go to the Founding Fathers? Nice drink to relax." Booth looked expectantly at Brennan.

"This man is a genius. Amazingly intelligient. An IQ of at least 160. Some of my grad students could learn from his methods. He-"

Booth cut Brennan short with an exclamation of disbelief, "The detective?"

But Brennan was back to staring at the computer screen, eyes glazing over and mouth slightly open. Booth could almost see the dribble dripping from her chin. Brennan was intellectually in love. Eventually he left her. Slightly downhearted and feet dragging on the soft carpet of Bones' office.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Computer and the Anthropologist**

Brennan sat at her computer in the dark until she felt her leg go to sleep and her eyes began to grow droopy. She kept reading, until finally head on desk she wiped sleep from her eyes to see Sherlock, who had arrived back at _The Jeffersonian_ in the early hours of the morning. She saw a dark silhouette in the doorway of her office and noticed the smirk on the detective's face before her body adjusted to the new feeling of awakedness. She jerked quickly upright and realised that Sherlock's gaze was fixed on the soft glow of her computer screen. She glanced at it, and realised that it was left on his blog page. She quickly closed the window and looked back at Sherlock.

"Have you ever been to a body farm?" Sherlock asked, like there was nothing weird about suddenly talking to a person he'd only been able to argue with before.

"For a case once, but I've always waited for an opportunity to go back."

"John took me once. But he didn't seem to enjoy it," Sherlock's brow furrowed slightly, "I've always wanted to go back." Sherlock said wistfully.

Brennan smiled back at him, "Would you like to go to one? There's one around here. We could go together."

Sherlock looked back at her, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

And as quietly as the detective had entered, he left. Back to the gurney and one of his only decomposing friends, who would have been studying her own decomposition if she weren't the one with maggots crawling through her empty brain.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Text**

John lay in bed at the hotel room. He was bored. Soooo bored. He's woken to an absent place next to him. And the feeling of warmth that he felt when Sherlock was there, had evaporated. He was left to think about the case. Last he'd heard the "bug-and-slime guy" had been taking a look at Molly's teeth. He hadn't been back to the Jeffersonian for awhile. Not since he'd caught Vincent staring at him as he read the paper. Sherlock had seemed to have forgotten about the staying in close-range thing. But had made John text him every few minutes about how he was. John's phone buzzed. _Speak of the devil_, John murmured.

_Not dead John?_

_-SH_

_Not dead._

_-JW_

The phone buzzed in happiness after the text was sent and John picked up a book from the bedside table and started to read.

...

Sherlock looked up from his examination of Molly to hear his phones merry chirrups. He smiled at John's text and put the phone down, only to pick it up a few minutes later as it vibrated again.

_Aww. Is darling Sherlock checking up on his John?_

_Well not for long my little dancer._

_Not for long. _

_-JM_


	12. Chapter 12

**The Psychologist in the Blue**

Booth knocked quickly on the wooden door. But didn't wait for an answer before barging into the room. Sweets lay on the couch in the centre of his office but bolted upright when he heard Booth come in. He had deep black circles that cut the skin under his eyes, their curving arcs emphasising the bloodshot whites of his tired looking gaze.

"Booth?"

"Hiya Sweets. Sorry to wake you." Booth slurred his characters into a suspicious tone and stared at Sweets dishevelled suit.

"That's ok." Sweets waved a hand, his whole body shook with the effort and he strained to put his hands on his knees and steady his shaking legs.

"You alright?"

"Uhmmm... yeah. Yeah. I'm fine." Sweets stared about the roof and gulped in big shaking breaths. "You sure?"

Sweets brought his face down into his hands and began to sob. His body heaving with each tear. "Mmhmm." Sweets muffled into his hands before bringing his tear stained face up to meet Booth's gaze. "So why are you here?"

"Well I needed some advice. But that's ok. I think I'll just go." Booth stood up to leave but was stopped by Sweet's sudden outburst.

"Daisy's missing." Sweets started to sob again. "She's gone and last time I saw her... last time. We... we were arguing. And now." Sweet's gaze cleared and his mind seemed to defuzz. "What if she's dead Booth?"

Booth stared at Sweets. And racked his brain for anything reassuring. "She's not Sweets. And we have the best detective in the world, he can help us find her. I can talk to him now."

"Ok. Ok. Thanks Booth." Sweets voice sounded broken. "So what advice can the sad psychologist give you?"

"It's ok, Sweets. I think you need to rest."

"No, Booth. Sleeping is dreaming, and at the moment I can't go back there. What advice do you need?"

Booth sighed, "Well, it's Bones. She hated this detective but now it's like she's in love with him."

Sweets smiled. "No Booth. She's not in love with Sherlock. She's just in intellectual awe. If you met an army sniper, who had all the same problems as you. A son, that he doesn't get much time with, and regret towards his killing in the army. But he worked as an FBI crime fighter like you. And he saved millions of lives because he risked his own. You would admire him. You would spend your days hanging around him. And... and Bones, she's found a guy who can't interact socially except with one other person, John, who like **you** was in the army. A guy who shares the same interest in dead bodies. Imagine what that feels like. Like finding a twin."

Booth smiled. "Like finding a **twin**."

...

Sherlock was hunched over in a chair when Booth found him. He was texting harshly, slamming his fingers onto the keys.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock continued to text, then finally finishing, he held his phone tightly between his fingers and looked up at the person who had interrupted his mad communication.

"What?" He spat.

Booth had rehearsed what he was going to say to Sherlock but it sounded ridiculous now. As he stood in front of the detective he felt his analysing gaze, his eyes levitating on Booth's belt buckle. Booth covered it with his hands self consciously until Sherlock looked up again.

"You need me to track down your colleague's missing girlfriend." Sherlock said, almost boredly.

"How did you know?"

"I didn't **know** I observed." Sherlock said irritatingly, he stood up and began pacing around the metal floor his eyes whipping in impossible directions. Sherlock's eyes flicked towards the entry to the room moments before Hodgins pushed open the door and rushed in, quick footsteps clacking on the linoleum floor.

"It was cyanide."


	13. Chapter 13

**Almonds**

"Cyanide? In her toothpaste? Surely that's not included in the ingredients list." Booth laughed.

Sherlock remained stonily quiet.

"Sherlock? How did you know it would be the toothpaste?" Booth said, suddenly serious.

_Seems everyone has suspicions about me murdering, _Sherlock smiled to himself.

"Simple really. Her mouth smelt of burnt almonds. Molly is allergic to nuts and the cyanide has a strong smell of almonds. How could it get to her mouth without her noticing the smell at the time? Mint covers the smell but after a while the mint smell disappears and the cyanide smell remains. So toothpaste. It's possible she could have simply eaten it. But we're dealing with a highly intelligent murderer, food poisoning is too simple. He would also know that Molly would swallow her toothpaste. She was on a rush to get to her sister's."

"You know who the murderer is?" Hodgins asked, surprised.

"Of course. James Moriarty. The World's Smartest Psychopath." Sherlock pronounced each word with grandeur as if he was announcing this news to a television show, rather than the two other people standing in the room with him. The other two looked less impressed.

"The suicide attempts? One of my famous cases. The pills contained cyanide. Copycat killer? Or a friendly reminder from our BFF?" Sherlock questioned sarcastically, throwing his face slightly strangely on the word BFF.

"Well then let's question this guy." Booth's stance changed. _Manly men. Stand with manly expressions. _

Sherlock laughed, "Let's find this 'guy' and kill him ourselves. You are obviously unprepared to meet any high IQ killer."

Before Sherlock could continue he felt his phone vibrate. Thinking of John he reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone.

"John?"

A computerised voice returned, "Awww darling. Sorry John couldn't answer the phone right now. He's a bit... preoccupied. 12 hours Sherlock time to watch you dance. It's time to test the waters. Did you remember your floaties? Can you put me on loudspeaker dear?"

Sherlock obliged and watched the confused faces wobble as he sat down for support. "Hello. Booth. Dr Hodgins. Pleasure to meet you again."

"The Gravedigger!" Hodgins screamed almost lurching himself at the phone, Booth pulled him back.

"No money this time, Sweeties. Only John and Daisy Wick. Won't it be a shame if you lose them both? 12 hours. Or... you get the picture, dears." _Dial tone._

Sherlock's head pounded. "John."

Notes

_Guys I'm sorry if I have the anything wrong with the cyanide science. I'm not a scientist and I don't want to spend hours researching everything about it. So please no mean reviews. Feel free to tell me stuff you know about it if you do, because it's interesting, but I do try and keep my stories possible and apparently it does smell like burnt almonds. But I can't personally say I've experience with it. Anyway. Rambling. Also if you want to leave requests in the reviews about where you'd like this to go feel free. But I might not fill them if I had something different in mind. But thanks guys for reading _


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